


Some Guy

by drowninginchamomiletea



Series: Me gay bmc bois [23]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: AND SHIT MAN IT GETS ANGSTY, Angst, Chatfic in chapter 10, Dirty Dancing, Drinking, Grinding, I HAVEN'T POSTED AN UN-BETA'D THING IN SMTH LIKE 6 MONTHS, I'll let you be the judge of that ig, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, My first more than 2 chapter fic in what feels like a looooong time, Nove's Writing: In The Raw, SERIOUSLY I JUST REREAD THROUGH THE DRAFT, Slightly slow-burn?, WOOHOO THAT MEANS EVERYONE WHO'S HOPPED ON THE CRAZY TRAIN SINCE OCTOBER CAN SEE MY WORK IN THE RAW, nightclubs, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowninginchamomiletea/pseuds/drowninginchamomiletea
Summary: For several months, Michael has gone to the gay nightclub Prism on Friday nights to unwind after the week.Then, one night, he meets someone.And soon after, everything starts to change.NOTE: This is only rated M because much of it is set in a nightclub where alcohol is served, and because there are sexual themes! I'd conservatively rate it as appropriate for audiences 16+, but there's no "Older Teens" rating on AO3, so... Don't let the M scare you off, I'm just trying to be safe with my ratings!Stay safe out there! If you choose to read this, I hope you enjoy it!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HEYOOOO this AU was thought up by my good buddy javert_is_my_poor_repressed_son! Please credit him if you use it! Thanks hon ;)  
> >>>If you wanna know exactly what AU this is (like, the name of the AU ig), please message me on tumblr (same username as here)! I don't want to put it here because just the AU name is very spoilery :>

Michael had had a terrible week. He'd gotten yelled at three times, made twenty-three really _stupid_ mistakes in coding, and been incessantly nagged by his asshole coworkers. But it was Friday, and he'd escaped his coworkers and friends—unfortunately including Jeremy—and found his way to his favorite club. Prism. It was a gay nightclub, and he loved the atmosphere. Friday nights were always packed with other escapists. 

Which was how he found himself dizzy drunk, high on the atmosphere and drowning in the haze, dirty dancing with some guy in Prism. The rainbow accent lighting spun in the corners of his vision as he moved to the throbbing beat.

Suddenly he was being spun around. The other man seemed to catch himself just before their lips met.

“C'n I kiss you?” he half-slurred, half-shouted over the music. The voice was familiar. Or not? Maybe? Whatever.

Michael frankly didn't give a shit at this point, so he tugged the stranger close and dove straight into making out, not even leading into it. They continued grinding against each other's legs. 

This was one of the hotter men he'd met at the nightclub. This judgement was entirely based on feeling the other person up a fair amount, as the dimly pulsing dance floor lights and the rainbow accent lights that encapsulated the bar in a faint glow were the only sources of illumination within Prism at night. Nowhere near enough to recognize faces, much less check someone out from any distance further than all over them.

Back to this guy.

In his inebriated state, Michael had no inkling of why this guy in particular had him so hot. He just seemed... Vaguely familiar, like an old favorite. Or... Something. He was exactly Michael's type. That's all that mattered to the Filipino man as their bodies moved in erotic sync.

 

.•∴✬•3.5 HOURS LATER•✬∴•.

 

Michael eventually became entirely worn out, and his utterly wasted brain gave him the signal that it was time to head home. He had danced with the same guy all night, and neither had gotten bored of the other. They hadn't spoken much—it was each other's bodies that they were fascinated with.

Michael pulled away and grabbed the guy's arm, dragging him towards an empty booth. Both men slumped down, exhausted.

“I'mma head home,” Michael said. He saw the silhouette of the other man nodding.

“Tha' w's th'best night a dancin' Ib'vever had 'ere,” he slurred.

“Y'sound more drunk'n me! And I'm on, like.....” Michael trailed off, trying and failing to think. “Ssssssssseven drinks???”

“H-eyy, I jus' slur r'lly eesly,” the guy protested. “'m not _tha'_ drunk.”

They sat in peaceful conversation about how drunk they were until eventually both got to a point of almost dozing off mid-sentence. Michael shook his head and pushed himself up.

“I'mma go now.”

“'kay.” There was a pause. “'re you here... E'ry Friday nigh'?” he asked timidly.

“Yeah,” Michael answered. “Y'wanna meet here 'gain? Uuuhhhh... Like, at this booth, at... Nnnine? Thirty?”

“Mhm, mhm. Tha' soun's good.”

“Cool. Seeya then.”

If he had been less drunk, Michael might  have recognized and identified the voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait to post more of this! 
> 
> Notes:  
> If ur confused, Michael is a programmer, but he aspires to be a musician and actively uses music as a minor side hustle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not incredibly well-written, but, eh, sue me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know what? FUCK IT! I'm just gonna post chapter 2 now!
> 
> Alternative summary: I have no self-control.

.•∴✬•6 DAYS & 20.5 HOURS LATER•✬∴•.

 

Michael stepped into the club and looked round at the booth where he had agreed to meet the mystery man. He had a plan to help keep their identities secret. (Somehow, that seemed of utmost importance.)

Spotting a vaguely familiar silhouette, he weaved his way through the crowd.

“Hey, babe,” Michael said once they were within a foot of each other, deepening his voice. The man sniggered and Michael chuckled. He continued with his deepened voice. For some reason, he didn't want to use his real one. “So, I dunno if you agree, Mystery Date, but I'm kinda feelin' the whole ‘we shouldn't really see each other's faces’ vibe. So, mind if I go buy drinks while you very pointedly _don't_ try to sneak a look at me?”

There was a pause, and the man spoke, voice firm and husky. Michael recognized that the voice wasn't the man's natural one, but didn't care, as he was doing the same thing.

“I'm down. Yeah. I d-don't want to know who y-you are.”

Michael smirked, a very specific, very long-term and intense piece of crush material popping into his head at the stutter.

“Personally, I find stutters _really hot,”_ he breathed into the man's ear just before disappearing towards the bar.

 

.•∴✬•1 HOUR LATER•✬∴•.

 

They were both drunk. And having the time of their lives, as far as they were concerned.

After a minute or two of dancing together, Michael moved his hands up to the guy's ribcage and kissed him hard on the side of of the neck. The slightly taller man felt his partner jolt slightly in surprise, then heard him moan. The mystery man retaliated before Michael could bite down.

The bastard reached back and grabbed Michael's junk, eliciting a gasp and forcing him to break the kiss.

“Y— Ohh, you're gonna pay for that, bro,” a now-slighted Michael growled playfully.

The other man... _Giggled._

“Le's go dance f' _real._ Not j'st grindin' an' movin' 'round.” The man turned around and looked up, grinning, at Michael's face, completely obscured by shadows. “D'you dance? I'mman actor, so I do m'fair share've it.”

“My best friend's an actor, and he always makes me practice his core— choreog—oreog-og-ogra—” he eventually gave up, amongst the other man's giggling, and went with the shortened term. “Choreo. He's always asking me to be his dance partner to help practice his choreo, and he says I'm pretty damn good.”

“Lessee whatchou've got,” his partner said, and promptly pulled the taller man out onto the less-crowded edge of the dance floor.

They started to dance in a more expressive and less sexual way, just grooving to the music.

Michael felt _free._ It was even better than being lost in the dark and heat and music of the center of the dance floor. Just _dancing_ and having _fun_ wasn't bliss—it felt like he could breathe freely. He felt laughter bubble up and flow from his lips as he spun and the other man caught his hand and pulled him into a partner dance.

“Y' _are_ good. Y'r bes'frien' was righ'.”

Michael grinned, although he knew his partner couldn't see it.

“So're you,” he said.

 

.•∴✬•2.5 HOURS LATER•✬∴•.

 

Both men, once again, eventually tired out. Drunkenly agreeing to meet the next week, they headed their separate ways once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I have chapter four 100% written. But chapter three isn't done  
> You have no idea how infuriating this is


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream. + some bonus bro fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHOOOOOOOOOHHHHH I DID IT I GOT PAST THE TOUGH BIT I WAS HAVING TROUBLE WRITING!!!! IT'S 04:45 (AM) BUT I'M DONE WITH THIS AND CAN SLEEP PEACEFULLY FOR MY REMAINING THREE HOURS AND 45 MIN BEFORE 08:30

.•∴✬•4 DAYS LATER•✬∴•.

 

_Michael was in Prism. He was dirty dancing with the same guy he had for the past two Fridays. Without warning, the guy spun around and dragged him to the ground, kissing him. The next thing he knew, they were on a bed._

_“Kiss me like y'mean it. C'mon, y'can do better than—” Michael was quickly cut off by lips sucking hard and teeth nipping at his neck, and he buckled under the other man. Oh_ hell _yes. The guy was clean of STIs—hopefully, at least. Michael had asked (though he didn't quite remember when), and he had said he was clean—and willing to get_ very _down and dirty. Michael didn't usually go to the club with the intention of going to a hotel and having sex, but, well, that was what had happened._

 _Abruptly, all the lights came on, and the next thing he knew, he had made dumbfounded eye contact with an_ excruciatingly familiar _pair of blue irises. Jeremy jumped back as Michael struggled to push himself up._

Michael shot up in bed, sweating.

He was in his own bed, in his own dark room. Not a strange hotel room. _That was... A really weird dream._

He swung his legs off the side of the bed so he was sitting on the edge. Running his hand through slightly sweat-dampened hair, he shivered at the intensity of the dream. It had felt so _real..._ Almost a little _too_ real to _be_ real. He took some vague comfort in that, but he was still really thrown off. Up till now, his Prism guy had been his weekly escape from his constant, suffocatingly all-encompassing feelings for Jeremy. But now, well...

He sighed and stood up. He knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep anytime soon. He was too disconcerted, and he could feel the strangling grip of anxiety tightening around his chest. So he quietly stood, pulling on his sweatshirt and grabbing his phone and headphones, and walked as soundlessly as he could to the tiny balcony. A thought striking him before he left his room, he went back and grabbed one of his high-CBD joints and a lighter.

He had to tiptoe through Jeremy's room to get to the balcony. He tried not to look at his friend. He knew seeing the guy sleeping, face peaceful and beautiful and _too damn perfect,_ would only make his own emotional state worse.

He managed to pass the danger that was Jeremy without incident, and reached the sliding door to the balcony. He slid it open, grimacing at the grating scrape of metal against metal—the muffling padding originally inserted into the top and bottom of the ancient door had worn off years before Jeremy and Michael had moved in. Finally, he slipped outside and sighed in relief, taking in the chill night air. He pulled his headphones on and set his phone to play some lo-fi hip-hop playlist on SoundCloud before lighting up and letting himself get lost in the moment.

The outer city was a sea of inky blue-black, sprinkled with yellowy specks of light. Michael often wondered how many of the dark windows were currently occupied by people just like him—lost and confused, seeking solace in smoke and the dark of night. He sighed, seeing a small amount of residual smoke escaping his lungs into the night. His head had stopped spinning with anxiety, so he could actually think now.

What did that dream _mean?_ Had it meant _anything?_ Was he just being ridiculous? He shook his head. No, there had to be a logical explanation for this.

He raised his hand and took another drag from the joint as he thought.

Jeremy. Michael's every thought and action took his best friend into consideration. He only busked to help pay for what Jeremy couldn't with his inconsistent income. The guy was kind of a mess, but he was a total unsung genius. He shone on the stage in his own unique, unconventional way—but many directors failed to see this, and dismissed him without looking closer. He hadn't grown much more since high school; his shoulders had broadened just slightly, his jawline had become more shapely, he'd gotten two or three inches taller. That was about it. He was also now less of a twig and more of a...

...slightly more muscular twig?

Yeah, he was still a twig. He'd just gone from spindly to willowy.

Either way, Michael's crush on him (now of eight years) was still as undeniably extant as ever.

Then there was... This guy he'd met at Prism. Giggly. Enthusiastic. Fun. Sexy. An actor, apparently. Seemed to enjoy Michael's company just as much as Michael enjoyed his. He was... Like the side of Jeremy that Michael rarely got to see anymore.

Since they had graduated high school and entered college, they had both been extremely busy with school and work. They hadn't had time to play video games—not since midway through their sophomore year, when one of the shows Jeremy was in had interrupted their weekly sessions. They just... Didn't really hang out anymore. They lived together, sure. They shared almost everything. They were absolutely still best friends.

They just hadn't talked in two days. And they hadn't _really laughed_ together for a month and a half.

Michael felt the familiar bitterness rising up in his stomach and chest, and quickly took another hit, hoping he could stave off enough emotions to prevent tears.

The two men—Jeremy and the Prism guy—had an uncanny amount in common. Maybe his subconscious mind had taken that idea and run with it, and that was how the dream had happened. Or perhaps it was because he had such strong feelings for both men, with the Prism guy being his “secret lover” and Jeremy being his longtime heartache. And it wasn't like he hadn't had dozens of sex dreams about Jeremy before now.

Yes, that sounded right. The dream meant nothing. There was no silly prophecy about the identity of the man from the club hidden in his dreams.

At this conclusion, Michael felt his body relax. There was nothing to be concerned about. No doubts worth bothering with.

 _God, Jere, if there's one thing you're good at, it's stressing me out._ He let out a sardonic laugh under his breath and turned to watch Jeremy sleep.

What he found instead was Jeremy standing leaning on the doorway to the balcony, wrapped in a blanket and watching him peacefully.

Michael jumped slightly, then instinctively took another deep breath to slow his heartbeat as he pulled his headphones off his ears to let them rest around his neck.

Jeremy straightened up, looking apologetic.

“S-sorry, I...” he trailed off, a mildly concerned, slightly saddened expression taking over his face. “Michael... Are you okay?”

Michael immediately felt himself fall comfortably into conversation with his friend. It was easy.

“Yeah, just... Had a bizarro dream. Woke up anxious. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “I actually j-just woke up from a weird dream, too.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Jeremy shook his head before Michael had even finished speaking.

“N-no. Sorry, it's...”

“Nah, it's fine, I get it. I don't really feel up to talking about mine either.”

Jeremy nodded, then looked past his friend and into the darkness beyond. Michael gazed at him, as enthralled as ever.

His expression was vaguely troubled. Michael wanted dearly to ask what was wrong, but Jeremy had already said he didn't want to discuss it. He wasn't going to press when Jeremy had made it clear he wasn't comfortable sharing.

So, as usual, Michael was left gazing at his best friend, wishing he had a way in, but not wanting to invade his privacy.

He sighed and put out his joint on the metal railing. He stepped forward and wordlessly outstretched his arms. The movement caught Jeremy's attention, and without making a sound or hesitating, he turned and wrapped his arms around his friend.

They stayed like that for nearly ten minutes, both trying to lose their troubles in the contact. It had been _so long_ since they'd hugged like this. It felt good to know that they still could, and that it was just as nice as it had ever been.

Eventually, Michael found himself yawning.

“Hey, Jerm... I'm gettin tired,” he mumbled, stepping back.

Jeremy nodded, looking into his eyes again. He smiled inwardly, knowing how to lighten the mood.

“C-carry me?”

Michael smiled outwardly.

“Oh, I dunno, Jere, it's been a couple years. You gained any weight?” He paused for a split second, pretending to be in thought, before continuing. “Hmm... Nope, I don't think so.”

“Ah— Sh-shut up!” Jeremy laughed indignantly. Michael's smile widened slightly.

“C'mon, broski, let's go.”

Scooping the smaller man up in his arms, Michael edged inside and deposited his friend on the bed.

“G'night,” Jeremy called softly after him as he left the room. “S-sleep well, Micah.”

And he did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward third Friday night. But hey, alcohol and some sexy dancing does everyone's troubled minds a bit of good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quickie, sorry! We're gearing up for next chapter :)

.•∴✬•2 DAYS & 19.5 HOURS LATER•✬∴•.

 

Michael strolled into the dark club, the dream from Tuesday night still sticking in the back of his mind. He stubbornly pushed the memory away, reminding himself that he'd thought about it enough this week and didn't need anything to throw off his night of freedom. 

It was still a bit hard to focus, especially because his guy (is that who he was now? “Michael's guy?”) also seemed like he had something on his mind. He didn't talk so much as usual, and he wasn't very receptive to flirting or jokes. When he did talk, his voice was slightly tense and he sounded vaguely troubled. 

But, well... It wasn't like they were there to talk out their feelings. They both eventually got drunk enough to forget about their respective internal struggles and fall back into what was becoming a routine for them. Get drunk, get into each other, dance dirty, get into the music, dance clean, get tired, go home.

And that was what happened. The night drew to a close. They parted ways, the mystery man taking his usual route down the street in the opposite direction Michael went to get to the subway. Michael watched him go before he himself vanished into the shadows.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every day so far this week has seemed really long. It's only Tuesday.  
> But yeah, for a solid hour I thought I'd posted chapter four yesterday, because this morning seems like a while ago. I realized my mistake, but, true to character, I still want to post this now.

.•∴✬•6 DAYS & 21 HOURS LATER•✬∴•.

 

It was Friday night once again, and Michael had nearly forgotten about the dream. He'd walked into the club as usual, bought them drinks, been flirty and suggestive as was standard between them, and quickly downed a couple Sazeracs—maybe three—and a Whiskey Sour. There might've been a Moscow Mule in there somewhere, too. Point being, he was in the mood to get shitfaced. 

It was within a half hour that they got sick of flirting and, still only moderately drunk—although Michael was considerably more inebriated than his partner—pulled each other onto the dance floor. 

“Y're drunk,” the other man giggled. 

“Yeah, well— S-so're you!” Michael drunkenly shot back, smiling dumbly nevertheless. 

They had just gotten to the point of running hands along each other's bodies when they were interrupted.

A shrieking alarm cried out from somewhere in the dark room. Everyone jumped and looked around, murmuring confusedly. Then, the lights came on.

Michael blinked, momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness. The DJ turned the music down enough so that the club patrons could talk to each other without shouting.

Someone called for silence from the bar.

“Attention, all Prism patrons! The smoke detector in the back of the building has gone off! Please evacuate immediately! Remain calm and exit through the front doors!”

The manager hopped down from her position standing on the bar, and the crowd began chattering worriedly and pushing towards the exit. Michael looked back down at his immediate surroundings to find a shocked, mortified, _very_ familiar face. This face was attached to the body he still had one hand on. The body of the man he'd been grinding with for four Fridays in a row. 

_“J-Jeremy!”_

He instantly scrambled backwards, away from the other man. He felt his mind reeling, his face going scarlet, and his eyes widening. His clouded brain came forward with a... Well, not a _good_ option, but what seemed like the best option available. 

Run.

So run he did. Pushing his way through the crowd, to many complaints and grumbles, he eventually found his way to the cold night air outside. He paused to look back and saw Jeremy's frantic face near the front of the throng of people.

So he started off running again.

Something in his mind questioned what he was going to do next.

Well, the subway was definitely out. They would end up catching the same line, which would defeat the purpose of running away. The bus definitely ran this late, but again there was the same problem.

So... Taxi. He ran, weaving unsteadily but trying his best to stay in a straight line, for a solid minute and a half before he lucked out. He caught a taxi just as it was dropping someone off outside some hotel. He leapt in the backseat, out of breath.

“H-hey,” he panted. “Could I get to, uh, the 'partm'nts on 27th and Murdock?” He produced a few crumpled bills from his pocket and the driver took them. He buckled up and glanced nervously down the street as the cab took off. Hopefully he would get home before Jeremy, so he could lock himself in his room.

He drummed his fingers on the door the whole way there. The instant they arrived, he threw a slurred, hurried “thanks!” after him as he slammed the door and stumbled his way up the metal external stairs. Third floor. He blundered down the shitty, narrow, half-exposed corridor between the rows of apartments until he halted in front of the one he occupied. Fumbling with his keys, he found the right one and shoved it into the doorhandle. He turned it roughly and burst inside. Not bothering to take off his shoes, he hastily closed the front door out of habit and made a beeline for his room.

Panic filled his heart when he heard the front door open behind him. 

“Michael! W-wait!” Jeremy cried, but it was too late. Michael had slammed the door to his room, and there was a loud _click_ as it locked.

Jeremy approached the door and knocked.

“M-Michael... Please... W'need to t-talk 'bout this...”

“Go 'way!” came a shout from within. 

“Michael, y're a lot d-drunker th'n—”

“I’m not 's think 's you drunk I am!”

Jeremy couldn't help but roll his eyes. 

“Y're not thinkin' s-straight.”

“I _can'_ think straigh', numbnuts! 'm gay!”

He hadn't just been defending himself when he'd said that he slurred easily all those weeks ago. It was true. One drink, and he'd start slurring every third word.

Michael, though. It took him a lot of drinking before it started affecting his speech. It would affect his thinking, of course; lower his inhibitions, make him more reckless and thoughtless. But his speech didn't change until he was several drinks in.

That meant that Michael probably wasn't going to be very available tomorrow. And Jeremy couldn't guess what would happen after that.

 _Should probably just get some sleep..._ he thought resignedly. He trudged back to the front door and locked it. He took off his shoes and placed them by the door before walking back to his own room. As he passed Michael's door, he could hear muffled cursing, as though his friend was shouting into a pillow. He sighed, thoroughly unhappy, and continued on to his own room. 

He flopped down in bed, not even bothering to change. He was too exhausted, physically and mentally. 

Meanwhile, Michael was in a similar position, except he was sobbing grossly into his pillow. He always forgot how emotional he got when he was drunk. 

But god, could you really blame him? He felt awful. His best friend of 16 years, crush of 8... God damn it, he'd been... He couldn't even admit it to himself. He'd _kissed_ the damn guy. 

He wasn't sure he'd ever recover from this. 

Out of habit, he reached over to grab his sleeping pills from the bedside table.

He just wanted to sleep.

For a really _long time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cue that meme that's like "oh shit! (oh shit!) ((oh shit!)) (((oh shit!))) oh shit!"]


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy and Christine still text a lot. She's his go-to for relationship advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fucking weak. I can't not post this shit I have an urge

 .•∴✬•5 DAYS LATER•✬∴•.

 

 **_jqueere:_ ** _god this is such a mess_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _neither of us wants to talk to the other and he's actively avoiding me and I'm subconsciously avoiding him and it's so bad Chrissy jfc_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _jeremy!!! i've already told you like five times, you have to talk to him!!_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _christine!!! i've already told you like five times, he's avoiding me!!_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _jeremy taylor heere, don't you take that tone with me. you know FULL WELL that the ONLY way to deal with this is to sneak up behind him, pin him to the wall, and force the conversation to happen!!! unless you want to just wait for the perfect opportunity to be dropped right in your lap, you don't have much of a choice, do you??_

**_~jqueere has been inactive for 5 minutes!~_ **

**_DramaQueen:_ ** _gosh hecking dang it jeremy answer me_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _I'll think about it_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _knowing you, “i'll think about it” just means “i'll put it off until the problem is so bad that my anxiety is justified”._

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _can you just... actually think about it?_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _can I still vent at you?_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _of course, jere. you can always talk to me._

 **_jqueere:_ ** _thanks_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _it's so lonely without him_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _even though we still live under the same roof it feels like I live alone with my insecurities_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _I honestly never expected I'd miss him this much if we stopped talking_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _I still don't know how to feel about the whole mess of the last four fridays_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _you said you weren't upset about it, right?_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _yeah_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _idk it's just that like_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _he seems so completely upset by it_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _why_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _why is he so upset_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _i think i know why_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _why????_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _wow. uncharacteristic punctuation much?_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _just tell me!_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _no. it's his right to tell you that. i know, but i'm not going to spill his secrets._

 **_jqueere:_ ** _but I need to know_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _then ask him, silly!!!!_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _I can't_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _you can too!!! you asked him to prom!!_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _as friends!_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _still, you made the first move then, and he was the happiest i've ever seen anyone when i talked to him later that day._

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _i think he really wants to talk to you too, but doesn't know how. or thinks he isn't ready. but i think he's fooling himself. he IS ready. he's just too intimidated to admit it._

 **_jqueere:_ ** _intimidated by what, exactly_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _by his feelings!! that man was never good at acting on his feelings. he always just sits dwelling on them and avoiding the consequences._

 **_jqueere:_ ** _are you sure_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _well... i obviously can't be a hundred percent certain, but i know michael. not as well as you do, but still. i know how he works. and i think that on some level, he's waiting for you to make a move._

 **_jqueere:_ ** _..._

 **_jqueere:_ ** _okay_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _I'll try to talk to him_

 **_jqueere:_ ** _don't expect much though_

 **_DramaQueen:_ ** _good!!! you can do it jeremy i know you can._

 **_jqueere:_ ** _thanks_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH IT'S CHAPTER SEVEEEEEEN  
> Lmao that last word autocorrected to "severe weeb"  
> So yeah this is done now! Enjoy!!
> 
>  
> 
> _I do not claim any rights to the songs mentioned/quoted below! All rights and credit for 1985 go to the band Bowling For Soup, and all rights and credit for Calling All Skeletons go to the band Alkaline Trio._

.•∴✬•4 DAYS LATER•✬∴•.

 

Michael had, for the most part, been succeeding at avoiding Jeremy for the past nine days. It honestly wasn't that hard, with their schedules. Jeremy seemed to have resigned himself to just weakly trying to greet Michael whenever they encountered each other. Michael wasn't ready to talk to him.

Sundays were his busking days. After Jeremy left, Michael grabbed his guitar case, put on his shoes, and headed out.

Today he decided to take a spot outside his favorite café. He had become friends with the owner, Bill, through his frequent patronage, and the man was perfectly happy having Michael play outside. He said it was good for business.

So Michael waved and smiled at Bill through the front window before cracking open his guitar case to begin playing.

 _Guess I should warm up with something fun._ He started with 1985 by Bowling For Soup and set off from there.

He'd been there for a good 45 minutes and collected about $25 or so. Next song on today's list... He glanced down at the paper pinned in his case. Calling All Skeletons by Alkaline Trio. He grimaced. This song framed his current situation perfectly.

_“Here it is again, though it stings like the first time_

_Seems it never ends, double nickels on your dime_

_I thought we were friends, I guess it just depends who you ask_

_These feelings tend to leave me with a hole in my chest...”_

He continued to sing his heart out and got a few dollars from a passerby.

 

Jeremy had stepped out of the building for some air. He'd just auditioned for a production of The Book Of Mormon, and callbacks weren't for another hour. He decided to walk to a nearby café for some coffee and to stretch his legs.

As he approached, he heard a familiar sound. A familiar voice.

Michael was busking by the door to the café Jeremy was looking to enter. _I didn't know he... Why... Why didn't he tell me he busks? Why_ does _he busk? We don't need the extra money, right? Is he just trying to save up enough to quit his job and sign to a record label?_

_“Now the time has come, I just wish I could erase_

_All the damage done to your name and your keepsakes_

_Only just begun, it's been fun, we were blind, deaf and dumb_

_There's a party in my closet, calling all skeletons, woah_

_Ca-a-a-alling all skeletons..._

_Calling all skeletons...”_

Jeremy knew that he was now much too close to attempt escape, so he just silently passed by, smiling weakly at Michael—who didn't acknowledge him—before hurrying into the café.

_He could still hear the goddamn music through the open window._

Great. Just cry in the middle of a fucking downtown coffee shop. Perfect. Especially with what the chorus said, and the emotion in Michael's voice as he sang it.

_“Where did you go, when the lights went black?_

_Look what's become of me_

_I've come to love your disappearing acts;_

_Do one more, pretty please...”_

Jeremy hurriedly fanned his eyes and hastened his way to the line at the counter. But he could still hear the music, of course.

_“Now the time has come, I just wish I could erase_

_All the damage done, all this pain, all this heartbreak_

_Only just begun, it's been fun, we were fucked-up and numb,_

_There's a killer on the corner and he's lookin' for love, oh_

_Woah-oh-oh, he's lookin' for love_

_Yeah, he's lookin' for you, my love.”_

He eventually reached the counter.

“One t-tall cappuccino, p-please.”

The barista nodded as he pulled out his wallet. She glanced up at him and frowned slightly.

“You alright?”

Jeremy hastily rubbed his eyes and nodded.

“Y-yeah, yeah! Just, uh... Having a rough... F-few minutes...” he trailed off awkwardly and the barista shrugged, but smiled kindly. She took his payment and he wandered to the other end of the counter, still helplessly listening.

The bridge ended and the chorus repeated a couple times, then the song was over.

Jeremy angrily grabbed his drink when it was placed on the counter, upset after hearing the music. He could still hear Michael playing, now some other song.

He put in earbuds while he waited for the call.

 

.•∴✬•3.5 HOURS LATER•✬∴•.

 

Michael was getting hungry. He glanced down into his guitar case to find a sum total of about $55 or $60. A very good day. Not astounding, but quite good. But this was just the morning.

Usually what he did was go home to get something to eat and to store the cash, then head back out for the afternoon. He didn't know exactly what Jeremy had planned for the day, so he just had to hold out hope that he wouldn't be home.

His hopes seemed to come true. When he opened the door, he saw no stray pair of shoes strewn aside near the entrance, and no coat hanging on the adjacent hook.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he slipped off his own shoes and walked to his room, carrying his guitar. He set the case on the bed. Before he did anything else, he put on his headphones and dialed up something to listen to. Then he opened the case and removed the instrument, placing it gently aside on the covers, before setting about counting the money.

He didn't notice when someone snuck into the room behind him.

He _did_ notice when someone yanked him back and pinned him against the wall.

“WhAT TH—”

It was Jeremy. Of course. I mean, who else _could_ it have been?

His roommate pulled his headphones off for him, keeping him pinned all the while.

“Jeremy, what the _hell?!_ Did I _ask_ to be fucking attacked in my own room?? What in the name of—”

“M-Michael. Please. Just _talk_ to me. Try to c-convince me you're actually terrible at singing. Complain about w-work. Tell me you _hate_ me. _Anything._ Just— J-just fucking _talk_ to me, man! I can't st-stand you just not saying _anything!_ It's _wrong_ and I d-don't like it! _Christ,_ Michael! I have sh-shit I wanna tell you! Stuff is happening and-and it's exciting! But I can't let you know if you won't l-let me within five feet of you!” He ceased, staring his friend in the eye. He was still pinning him to the wall.

“Fuckin'— Leggo of me.” Michael squirmed out of Jeremy's grip and glared at him. “I don't need my life to fall apart any more than it has. _Is.”_

“Whad'you mean?”

Michael, becoming more and more frustrated, finally let off.

“You! My job! My music! _Everything!_ Nothing is going according to plan, and the older I get, the more I'm convinced nothing will ever change! I can't _breathe!_ I just want to do music full-time, but we can't afford that! And I want to do everything I possibly can to help support you, because god _dammit,_ Jeremy, I'm in _love_ with you! So I busk! That's the only reason there's any money at all in my savings account. And I keep that just in case something happens and one of us needs a little extra cash. I fucking hate my job, but at least it pays the bills, right? It's such a common story, so of course it doesn't matter, but fuck, man, it's _awful!_ I just want both of us to do what we love and be able to pay the rent and buy food!” He finally stopped, panting lighty. Jeremy stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Y-you're... In _love_ with me?”

Michael heavily sat down on the bed, face resting in his hands.

“Yes. Eight years.”

_“Eight years?”_

“Eight years.”

“...damn.”

“Yeah.”

There was a silence.

“So... God, that m-must've been... Really horrible for you, r-realizing that it was me...” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Jesus, Michael, I'm so sorry.”

Michael laughed a dry, humorless laugh.

“Makes it sound like you knew.”

Jeremy shook his head vehemently.

“No, no. No way, I s-swear I didn't. It's just that, yeah, for m-me it was embarrassing and surprising, but for you it was p-probably terrifying and m-mortifying and, oh man, _that's_ why you r-ran away...”

Michael nodded absently and Jeremy spoke again.

“I w-want you to know that n-nothing that happened was against m-my wishes or made me uncomfortable. I h-had... A lot of fun.”

Michael gave him an odd look.

“You did?”

“Yeah!” the shorter man nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. I did.”

Michael felt his chest slowly warming up. A small smile appeared on his lips.

“I...” He didn't know what to say. Jeremy went ahead to fill in the blank.

“C-can I hug you, dude?”

“Yeah, totally. Hug it out, bro,” Michael laughed, lunging forward to hug his best friend. He breathed in Jeremy's familiar scent as they embraced. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I've been so dumb.”

“N-no, I get it. You were... You c-couldn't have known how I'd react.”

“...right.”

Jeremy stepped back, giving the other man a bit of space.

“I'm still sorry. Th-that I didn't notice, for all those years. That I didn't pay m-more attention. I'm sorry.”

“'s not your fault, Miah.” His use of the old, intimate nickname was very intentional. “I... Honestly, it was probably unhealthy. I just... Kept it bottled up for so long, I think it broke me a little. Cracked a couple seams open.” He shook his head in response to Jeremy's stricken expression. “I'm fine, in the end. All I really want is to see you happy.”

Jeremy sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the worn carpet. He felt worse now than ever. _I broke him. I... I broke him. I broke my best friend and I don't know how to fix him._

Michael watched him, feeling panic and upset rising in his chest once more. Jeremy hadn't moved. He was just sitting there, seemingly transfixed by the carpet.

“J-Jeremy...? Are you...”

The smaller man stood and faced him.

Jeremy knew before he even spoke that what he was about to say would sound stupid.

“Michael... Why didn't you t- _tell_ me?”

Michael didn't laugh at him, nor did he roll his eyes or scoff. He just... Looked at him, face vaguely sad but mostly neutral.

“Because... I loved you. And no matter how the other person feels, saying that will change the relationship forever. And I didn't want that to happen. I _don't_ want it to happen. Although I guess the whole debacle of being each other's mystery club dates already did that, so I don't even know why I care anymore. I still can't tell you. I can't say it to your face. There's just something about the phrase that makes it innately the harbinger of change.”

“Everyone's afraid of ch-change.” The matter-of-fact tone was extremely atypical of Jeremy. For some reason, Michael felt that he shouldn't speak yet. Jeremy went on. “Y'know, like... Remember how long it took t-to convince me that we should m-move out of Woodbridge Township? I was so freaked out. I d-didn't want to leave home. I was af-fraid because I knew that l-leaving our hometown would signify us b-becoming independent, and that n-nothing would ever be the same. I d-didn't want to lose what we had.”

He paused for a moment and then paced about as he continued his speech.

“And... I was right, wasn't I? Everything d-did change. But we're st-still here! We’re still okay. You know why? It’s c-cuz _we changed.”_ He took a breath, internally wondering how much longer he could ride this wave of passion and inspiration. “Humans are adaptable. When something ch-changes, we change t-to accommodate it. The reason we're afraid of change is b-because we're afraid of not kn-knowing who we'll be in the end. We don't want t-to lose what we've held onto so tightly as our c-current selves.” _Just a couple more points and I'll run off the tracks and everything will be awkward. But I'll have made the points. So that's at least okay._ “But personally, I think that w-when you look at the big p-picture of your life, the things you really love and n-need are the things that change _with_ you, so you can k-keep holding onto them. And even if you d-do lose track of them for a while, or f-forever, they'll always be a p-part of you. They effected their own changes on you, and you'll always c-carry that with you. And i-in the end, you'll find them again. So...” Aaaaaand there it goes. Jeremy stopped pacing and looked down, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Y-yeah.”

Michael gazed out the window, frowning slightly, and thought about what the actor had just said. _Change is inevitable, and you shouldn't fear it, because when it happens, it happens to everything, so you're not alone._ God. Where had he pulled _that_ speech from? Needless to say, he was usually quite inarticulate. But, in any case... It _did_ help.

Michael felt a grateful, tentative half-smile pull at his lips.

“Thanks. That... Yeah, thanks.”

“'C-course,” Jeremy said, also smiling unsteadily. “So, c-can we... Not avoid each other, now? It's lonely not having you around.”

Michael swallowed, throat dry, and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah. I... Yeah, it's been hard not talking to you. 'm sorry, it was my fault. I... You're right, I was scared. I _am_ scared. I gotta get over that.”

“It's okay, man. I j-just wanna be able to talk to you again.”

“Yeah. Alright. No more avoiding each other.” He held out his hand, elbow bent, for Jeremy to take in the classic Bro Handshake.

“N-no more avoiding each other,” Jeremy confirmed, grasping his hand firmly. They stayed like that for an awkwardly protracted moment before Michael pulled his hand away.

“I should probably finish counting this,” he said, gesturing to the cash scattered across the bed.

“R-right. Yeah. Okay,” Jeremy said quickly, stepping toward the door.

Michael hesitated as Jeremy walked out. Just before the door clicked shut, he blurted it out.

“I love you!”

There was a significant pause. After a good ten seconds, he finally heard the door close.

_Well. I dunno if I fucked up there or not._

In the meantime, Jeremy was standing outside, now facing the door again, strongly debating whether to go back in and say something outrageous like “I love you too.” The inner conflict was a violent war of desires and doubts.

Chiefly, he wasn't even sure if he liked Michael the same way. In any case, how could he ever compete with _eight years?_ He was afraid that he wouldn't be able to give enough love back to match that. Michael was definitely attractive. Jeremy's taller best friend was also much more talented than he. And yeah, Jeremy definitely loved him to death—platonically, at least. _At least._  Not to mention the fact that they depended on each other emotionally.

Michael was as emotional as any, but Jeremy was always able to talk him through it. It was therapeutic for both of them, talking each other down. Jeremy occasionally had nightmares about the SQUIP or anxious breakdowns from being overwhelmed, and all he had to do was call his best friend's name and within moments, there were warm arms around him and a familiar voice soothing him. It's what they did for each other, or that was what Jeremy liked to think.

A loud clanging clatter from the apartment next door pulled him out of his reverie. He stepped back, feeling his doubts winning over his mind.

 _He talked to me. That's all I needed,_ he thought, trying to convince himself. _It's fine. This is all I wanted._

He looked at Michael's door once more before walking slowly back to his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy


	8. Chapter 8

.•∴✬•5 DAYS LATER•✬∴•.

 

Things got better after their conversation on Sunday. They talked, a little. They went back to sharing their space.

But it still wasn't the same.

It was incredibly awkward. Every time they bumped into each other, they jumped apart, flustered. Every time they talked, neither could banish the memories of muttering drunkenly in each other's ears. After a couple of days, they subconsciously began avoiding each other again.

It was now Friday. Michael hadn't gone out on Friday nights since the incident at Prism. Jeremy had, though. He said he was “just... Walking.” Michael wasn't entirely sure he believed that.

Tonight, his suspicions would be confirmed.

He was sitting on his bed, idly tuning his guitar, when he received the text. His phone buzzed on his bedside table and let out a familiar, custom chiming sound, notifying him of a message from Jeremy.

He finished tuning a string before picking the device up and checking the notification. He had to reread the message two or three times before he took it in.

_come to the liberty st hospital & ask for me. got kinda messed up earlier. we gotta talk. -j _

“F-fuck!” he coughed, pushing his guitar aside and leaping up. He was still wearing his casual clothes from earlier in the afternoon—jeans, a faded green t-shirt, and grey socks—so he was dressed acceptably to go out. Not that that mattered right now. He yanked on the nearest jacket and shoved his phone and keys into a pocket. As a last-minute thought, he grabbed his usual sweatshirt for Jeremy. He jumped into his shoes before heading out at a run, barely remembering to lock the door behind him.

The subway ride to the hospital seemed to take _hours._ By the time he had arrived at the right station, Michael thought he might explode with nervous energy. He put that energy into a mad dash up to street level and into the hospital.

“I'm here to see... Jeremy Heere,” he panted to the receptionist.

Looking completely unfazed, she clacked something into her keyboard.

“ER. Room 12.”

“Thanks,” he said, jogging away.

After asking directions from several people along the way, Michael eventually lurched to a halt outside the door he had been told was Jeremy's. His breath seemed to suddenly vanish. He stared at the door for a moment, then hesitantly turned the handle and stepped inside.

“H-hey,” Jeremy greeted. He looked _awful—_ two black eyes, an ugly bruise on his left cheek and a scrape on his right, his lip fat and dark, his right wrist in a cast. He grinned at Michael's shocked expression. “'s n-not as bad as it looks,” he said. “C'mon, bro. Siddown. We g-gotta talk.” He gestured to the chair by the wall. Michael dragged it to the bedside and sat.

“What, about you getting beat up? What the hell e—”

“N-no, no, man, not about that,” the bruised man interrupted. “About us.”

“U-us?”

“Yeah. Us. And this whole... Huge mess w-we're in. That c-conversation we had on Sunday was g-good, yeah. But I still haven't said more than a f-few words to you in two days. The apartment is so t-tense I can barely think when I'm home.” He frowned steadily at Michael. “We never said what all this m-means for _us._ Our friendship.”

Michael ran a hand through his own hair.

“God, this is so fucked-up and complicated,” he sighed. “I guess I'll start by saying again I've been in love with you for eight fucking years. The ‘mystery guy at the club who I really liked and who was fun and cool and loved to dance’ was... Kinda my... Escape. From... You.”

Jeremy was quiet for a long moment before speaking. When he did, it was not what Michael had expected to hear.

“...d'you really think my st-stutter is hot?”

Michael felt his face flood with warmth.

“Uh... Yeah...” He sheepishly scratched the back of his head as Jeremy looked surprised and mortified. “I-I— Uh... I mean, personally I think everything about you is hot.” _What the hell are you saying, Mell!?_ “Even if you can't see it.” _Wow, way to go overboard._ “It's been like that for ages.”

The smaller man was floored. The thing that he had _hated_ about himself ever since he could remember, the thing that he had worked his _ass_ off trying to get rid of, the thing that embarrassed him _every time_ he opened his _damn_ mouth... Michael _liked?_ He didn't know how to feel.

“W-why?” He didn't intend to say it; the word simply seemed to stumble its way out of his mouth without his permission.

Michael laughed, confused in more ways than one.

“The stutter? Uh... I don't know? It just makes you... _Y ou ,_ I guess?” It felt so bizarre to be having this conversation; telling the subject of his crush about its details. “Anything that makes you who you are is great in my book,” he added, under his breath.

After a moment of silence, Jeremy shook his head, staring down at the blanket over his legs.

“I'm a g-grown-ass man, god dammit. Why can't I ever st-string two words t-together when... When you, uh... When y-you get... Like... _This?”_

“Join the club,” Michael laughed weakly. “Grown-ass men who lose the power of speech when their best friends tell them their feelings about them.”

They both fell silent yet again. Michael felt a nagging urge to say ‘I love you,’ but there was no way he would ever do that again. Too risky. Jeremy hadn't mentioned it since Sunday, and Michael took that to mean he did _not_ reciprocate.

He gazed unseeingly at the red sweatshirt in his hands. His reverie was interrupted when Jeremy took the sweatshirt and pulled it on.

“Thanks. I w- _was_ actually pretty cold.”

Michael smiled.

“Kinda thought you would be,” he chuckled. He gazed at Jeremy for a moment, then frowned and took the pale face in his hand, inspecting his friend's injuries. “Seriously, though, what happened? Why can't you wear _your_ jacket?”

Jeremy looked slightly guilty.

“It g-got kinda... Torn up. I, uh...” he trailed off, gesturing to the other chair in the room, where his jacket was draped. Michael stood and walked over to examine it. The seat had a tear, as did the elbows. As he replaced the jacket on the back of the chair, he noticed the jeans sitting clumsily folded on the seat of the chair. There were large holes in the knees.

He went to sit back down.

“Jere. What happened?”

Bruised eyes appeared troubled.

“Y'know I have a bi p-patch on that jacket.”

“Yeah.” Michael definitely knew. Jeremy was the most open and proud LGBTQ+ person he'd ever met. The guy would defend his identity to anyone and everyone who criticized it, and had far more bi pride gear than was necessary.

“I was walking around in town. I needed to f-find someplace to dance. But, well, y'know, straight clubs are kinda... Eh. I d-dunno. I haven't been so into g-girls lately.” He glanced up slightly. “B-but, anyway... I couldn't go back to Prism. I... Haven't been able to.” He paused.

“No, I get it.”

“Yeah. S-so I went to a place—a gay club—some guy at auditions mentioned. And the g-guy at the door saw my patch and bounced me. So I st-stood up for myself. It got kinda intense, and then a c-couple of other guys in the line got worked up and beat m-me up. I was eventually able to slip out of their grip and book it. My wrist hurt l-like hell and I knew it might be broken, so I r-ran to the closest hospital.”

Michael waited a moment to make sure he was done, then spoke, frustrated.

“Jeremy, you— God dammit. Sometimes you gotta just let it go, man. Save me a stupid amount of stress and the both of us a bunch of hospital bills. Thank god I keep that emergency savings account, Jesus, Jeremy! I'm sorry, dude, but you can't do this shit! I totally get that you wanna stand up for yourself, but fuck, what about my poor heart? It's too much worry!”

“S-sorry...” Jeremy cringed apologetically. “I knew you'd be upset... B-but, well... I can't just let them get away with hate, y'know?”

Sighing wearily, Michael took Jeremy's hands in his.

“Yeah, I know. I get it, and it's sick that biphobia happens within the LGBT community. But at the same time... Think of me, okay? I don't want you getting hurt. Just make sure that, if you _are_ gonna put up a fight, I'm there. Life's a two-player game, right? It's tough out there on your own. I don't try to do shit without you, man. We need each other.” He smiled. Jeremy slowly returned the expression. They hadn't looked back on their old tagline for more than a year.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, alright. You g-gotta promise too, though. No trying shit alone.”

“'course. No way am I makin' trouble without you at my side. I'd never let you miss out on the action.”

“Cool.” Jeremy grinned broadly. “Best bros?”

“Totally.”

As though on cue, a nurse entered.

“Mr. Heere— Oh, this must be your friend. Well, you're good to go. You can go ahead and get dressed. Show the people at the ER front desk your insurance card before you head out. Here's a pamphlet about how to work around a cast, and a bag to shower with.”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the items and standing up. Michael stepped back so his friend could walk around the bed and put his clothes back on.

When he pulled off the sweatshirt and the thin hospital gown, Michael swore softly at the bruises on his ribs.

“Jesus, Jere...”

Jeremy glanced up and grimaced.

“Don't... I'm fine. It... It hurts, but I'm f-fine.”

Michael felt a pang.

"Don't... Don't try to act tough, man, it's... You don't have to. If— If you don't want to. I won't judge you. B-basically what I'm saying is, you're safe to admit that you're in pain around me.”

Jeremy nodded before pulling on his shirt, wincing slightly as he had to stretch the bruises on his ribs when he raised his arms.

“Th-thanks.”

He pulled on his socks and the sweatshirt and stepped into his shoes before picking up his jacket and looking up at Michael.

“Alright,” he said with finality, nodding briefly.

“Ready to go? Got your phone and wallet and stuff?”

“Yes, _Dad,”_ Jeremy snorted, rolling his eyes but smiling nevertheless. “Let's b-blow this popsicle stand.”

“Gotta do the insurance thing at the front desk first, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H

**_Cue Spongebob-style timeskip:_ **

**_TEN MINUTES LATER_ **

 

“Alright, let's g-get going home.”

“Right.”

They stepped outside to find a bus bound for their street pulling up. Glancing at each other and shrugging, they jogged to the vehicle and boarded, scanning their transit passes as they stepped on.

They chose a pair of seats and sat down together.

Jeremy looked out the window.

He couldn't get what Michael had said on Sunday out of his head. What it had meant. The regret and feeling of responsibility that Jeremy had shouldered.

_I broke him. Now it's my job to fix him._

That was what it was. That was the challenge he had to face. Mend a broken heart.

But the question was, how?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a gentle elbow prodding his arm.

“You okay?” Michael's expression was kind and concerned.

“I-I'm... Yeah, I'm fine. But...” Jeremy trailed off, staring into his riend's eyes. “...are _you?_ Okay? I... Y-you...” He looked away. “Michael, I b- _broke_ you.”

Michael frowned, confused.

“Whad'you...”

“Y-you told me on Sunday. You're b-broken after loving m-me for so long. I don't want... Micah, p-please, tell me how I can fix you.”

Michael paused, unsure of how to answer. He _had_ said that. And frankly, it was probably the truest thing he had said that day. But he couldn't let Jeremy know that.

They fell heavily back into a dense silence.


End file.
